Defacing Literature

Well, The Counterfeit is out. I had a big release party on Friday, and three booksignings on Saturday. I met a great many readers who were interested in buying the book, most of whom were either relatives or people who owed me favors. Had I been Robin Hood, and Morgan Freeman had sworn devoted allegiance to me for a lifedebt, he would have probably repaid it via buying a copy of my book. (Well, he’d buy a copy of my previous book, because it’s on sale. You know how he is.)

Following the sagely advice of Mr. Jeff Savage, I’ve tried to stretch myself a little more at booksignings, going from the sitting-behind-the-table approach to a more outgoing, accost-the-public method. Recently Jeff posted some rules for booksignings, which I can’t remember and can’t be bothered to look up, but here’s what I think they are:

1) Have a good, solid name that implies violence (like Savage). I changed mine to Robison Howitzer.

2) Be Betsy Brannon Green. Because seriously, she’s all anyone wanted to talk about. “My book is a conspiracy suspense thriller,” I’d say, and they’d reply “Really? So are Betsy Brannon Greens’, but hers include casserole recipes. Do your books include casserole recipes, Robison Howitzer?”

Really, that’s all I can think of. Here’s one interesting thing I noticed, though. (It will soon be the subject of my doctoral dissertation on social psychology.) If someone is talking to you about your books, then other people will come up and listen. If no one is talking to about your books, then everyone else will avoid you like the plague. My theory? If I’m not talking to anyone, then people will assume I’m an unpopular loser who writes crappy books. And they’d be right. But if I’m talking to other people, then perhaps my books don’t make me worthy of the blackball quite yet. My solution? Hire groupies to hang around and talk about the books. If you’d like to apply, send your resume and a ten-dollar processing fee to Robison Wells, Inc.

The highlights of the signings:

1) The manager at the Taylorsville Seagull Book is named Randi. Her husband is named Dallas, and her new kid is named London. You see, they had a bit of a name-the-kids-after-cities theme going on. Consequently, I’ve decided to call her Randolph. I spent the entire hour I was supposed to be signing books coming up with funny kid names. For example: Panguitch. Also, a set of twin boys, Murray and Roy.

2) Susie, who works at the Redwood store, recently returned from a mission in scenic Lubbock Texas. I knew her from back when I was signing my first book at that store. The moral: in the last 18 months, she baptized, like, seven hundred people and I baptized no one. Seriously, I suck.

3) I only had fifteen minutes to get from the Redwood Road store to the West Jordan store, and I was quite late. I drove really really fast, but it didn’t help. Fortunately, the general public seemed to think that the West Jordan store had gone out of business, or something. Perhaps they’d seen the sign that I was there, and decided to shop another day.

4) “Best wishes and happy reading.” Seriously, I’ve been signing books for two and a half years now, and that’s the best I can come up with. What if someone wants to buy all three books? Do I write the same inscription in each? Do I think up something clever off the cuff? Do I come up with some crappy pun? “Dear Kerry-- I’ll tell you one thing that isn’t Counterfeit: this book is so spine-tingling and intense that no one will have to Wake You When It’s Over! (On Second Thought, bring a pillow just in case…) Many happy regards, Robison Howitzer.”